


Warmth

by murmurime



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Bottom Alex, M/M, Top Henry, finally...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murmurime/pseuds/murmurime
Summary: Nora said it best when she said Alex needed a dick down and I only hope to do right by her.





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xintong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xintong/gifts).

> a very poor gift for a very good good friend, thanks to whom, we all get to eat. (and thanks to em for being my beta and making me sound literate)

Ever since the first time Henry stood over him, looming without trying, Alex has fought the flutter in his lids when looking up to meet his eyes. Henry had confessed he’d often lie awake trying to work out if Alex was deliberately trying to seduce him, always meeting him with fluttering lashes and lips in a barely contained pout. Alex had rolled his eyes. “I did _ not _,” he’d said, “and I don’t pout,” unwittingly pushing out his bottom lip. Henry had kissed his pout until laughter spilled through them.

Alex has, however, fought less valiantly against getting caught up in the hands of the prince. 

Now that he’s allowed himself to admit it, Alex knows he’s always loved the feel of those hands on his hips. They’d slide down his sides when they hugged, and Henry would squeeze his hips as he pulled him into a kiss. His own hands clenched with a fistful of tie and creeping into soft hair, and Henry anchoring him. Those hands on his hips are always warm through his clothes and keep him steady on his feet. 

The first time he felt the warmth of Henry’s palms against his own bare skin, he felt something molten climb through the vertebrae of his spine and lodge there. The air was stuffy and warm in that hospital supply closet, but he barely suppressed a shiver as goosebumps pricked his skin, as if reaching out for that warmth again. 

In the commotion of being squeezed into the closet, his shirt had come untucked. Henry had missed the floor trying to steady himself as he sat up, his hand landing briefly on Alex’s hip, red-hot in the dark. In his haste, Henry’s nails had faintly scratched at Alex’s skin and Alex had sucked in through his teeth. Under any other circumstances, he would have winced or whined or complained just to be a little shit, but he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than he was sure his heart already was. 

In that dark quiet room, he could hear it banging against his chest, seeming louder even than the sound of his own breathing, and had hoped to god Henry didn’t notice.

Alex is pulled out of his reminiscing by a warm hand on his thigh. He watches as Henry’s hand splays open across it, and notes how much of it fits into Henry’s palm. It reminds him of the first time he pressed their palms together, alcohol sweet on his lips, making him bold when he was unable to look anywhere but at Henry. 

Alex had marched up to him on New Years, almost slipping on a piece of tinsel come loose. He had stumbled - only to be steadied softly by Henry, his cheek meeting the warmth of Henry’s chest. Alex had grabbed his hand and forced their palms together, eyes almost crossed in concentration. 

He’d blinked slowly at Henry’s fingertips peeking high over his own and a strangled noise caught in his throat as Henry wiggled his fingers. Whisky-loosened lips smiled down at him, and a flash of teeth sobered him up enough to realise it’d been well over a minute since his last mandatory glass of water.

The rustling of paper brings Alex back to the present, and he finds himself with a new list of things he knows to be true about Henry:

  1. The weight on Henry’s shoulders that had curved his spine is gone (and with it, his hesitation.)
  2. Henry is much more physically affectionate than he’d initially thought. 
  3. Henry touches him without thinking, especially when concentrating.
  4. Henry likes touching him casually.
  5. Henry’s palm is a lot higher up his thigh now than it was when he started this list.
  6. Nothing about Henry’s touches now are casual.

Alex breathes through his nose and looks at him, the carved Grecian marble of his perfect face warm in the setting light filtering through the window. “Sweetheart,” he says, without thinking. Henry hums but doesn’t look away from the papers in his hand. “_ Sweetheart,” _ he repeats, pushing his shoulder against Henry and squeezing him against the arm of the sofa. 

“Yes, love?” Henry says, smile reflected on Alex’s lips. “What is it?” Alex bumps his knee against Henry’s and Henry looks down to where his hand has been absentmindedly tracing the seam along the inside of Alex’s thigh. 

Henry’s hand doesn’t stop moving, and he rests his head against Alex’s and turns his lips against his ear to repeat, “_ What is it?” _ Alex’s eyes almost flutter closed at the pull of teeth against his ear, hips nearly arching to press his thigh up into Henry’s hand. 

“Are you _ quite _ finished?” he finally says, faux British accent stumbling on his tongue, and Henry laughs. 

If he could, he’d catch the sound of Henry’s laughter like he used to catch fireflies, like lighting in a bottle, just to admire it a little longer; just to prove to himself that it’s not selfish to want to hold beauty in his hands for a little while, if he treats it gently and lets it go again. But Henry isn’t leaving him; this is his to keep. 

Henry’s papers are abandoned completely, and he turns to face Alex— or, rather, he manhandles Alex to face him. Henry pulls Alex’s leg up to rest over his own on his lap, while his other hand finally comes to shamelessly palm at the strain between Alex’s legs. 

Alex is trying hard not to react in any way that’ll embarrass himself, but he’s breathing heavily through his mouth already. It’s not long until he’s flexing his thigh higher up Henry’s lap, spreading his legs wider to accommodate those hands, his eyes glossed over, unseeing, until they roll shut with pleasure. 

“Henry.” His voice almost breaks and he sighs, sweet and syrupy. “_ Henry, _” his voice lilts, and Henry kisses him wetly, hand still moving. The muscles in Alex’s thighs are twitching. His head falls back against the sofa in soft submission, providing easy access for Henry’s mouth to swallow his tongue. He can’t help but whimper as Henry squeezes him through his pants. 

“Henry—“ he starts.

“Come on, love,” Henry coos, “I’m right here.” Alex’s hips are shamelessly rolling up into Henry’s palm and he’s biting his lip. 

“H-Henry,” he says, eyes squeezed closed, urgency clear in his voice, “m’gonna make a m-mess.” His hips stutter against Henry’s hand. 

“Don’t worry darling.” Henry’s breath is hot against his neck, warm puffs slipping under the collar of his hideous Christmas jumper. “I’ll clean it up for you.” The press of his tongue is fire and Alex chokes on his name as he cums. 

The rattling of the doorknob stops Henry’s tongue inches from his skin and Alex groans a rushed, “Occupied!” before slumping against Henry’s shoulder, shivering as Henry’s quiet laughter on his neck raises gooseflesh. 

Alex refuses to let Henry pull him onto his feet, and all but squeaks when his feet are swept from under him with nothing more than a “Very well, princess” from Henry.

The thing is, Alex knows Henry is strong. He knows he probably weighs little more than a duffel bag to him. He’s seen the carved muscles, mapped them out with his tongue, been crushed into Henry’s broad chest by those toned arms, but he’s never been swept off his feet like this. Physically, at least.

He finds his stomach dipping like it did the first time he was tall enough to ride the big kid roller coasters and he wraps his arms around Henry’s neck tighter than he needs to, ignoring the knowing blue eyes and smirk.

Henry’s pulling his clothes off him almost before his feet touch the ground, and Alex lets himself stumble backwards into bed, grabbing Henry’s cardigan to bring him down with him. He only has a minute to appreciate the shadow Henry cuts out of the light behind him before he feels himself swallowed by the dark intensity of his eyes as Henry sets about resuming his earlier work, sinking down the bed to follow through on that promise to clean him up.

Alex’s legs are thrown over Henry’s shoulders and his toes curl as his still sensitive dick hits the back of Henry’s throat. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t need a “cleaning” so thorough, but he’s also pretty sure he’s about to bite through his lip as he tries to muffle his cursing. Henry’s tongue is hot between his cheeks and his hands fist into the sheets as he tries not to squirm, because he doesn’t trust himself not to suffocate Henry between his thighs. 

Maybe the size of the prince _ has _ intimidated him ever since he first felt it brush against his ass, when Henry had unthinkingly leaned over him to reach the Jaffa Cakes on the highest shelf above his head on that first visit. And maybe Alex had lain awake that night, blaming jet lag and ignoring the warmth in his gut. But that hasn’t meant he hasn’t thought about something thicker than the princes tongue leaving his legs weak. 

He’s fighting not to let his legs close around Henry’s head, but the press of fingers against his entrance snap his spine taut and he shouts. Henry’s eyes sparkle up at him and Alex finally lets his nails drag through his hair. “You and your fucki—ngh— travel lube,” Alex spits and he feels Henry’s laugh rattle against him.

“Actually,” Henry says, licking his lips, “you can thank Bea.” Casually, like two of his fingers aren’t slowly scissoring in and out of him, he adds “I got a stocking full last Christmas.” Alex digs his heels into Henry’s back, groaning.

“God, shut up” he says, pulling Henry up into a kiss, but not before Henry can snort, “Gladly.”

Alex thinks four fingers is excessive, but he doesn’t say this because looking down past curling fingers and flexing stomach muscles to where Henry’s dick hangs heavy between his legs, bowed under its own weight. 

“Henry,” he pants, finally, “I’m good.” 

Henry’s lips quirk and he curls his fingers deep, smiling at Alex’s open mouth. “You’re good?” 

Alex ignores the stutter in his own voice. “You know what I mean.” Henry hums, pressing against his prostate and Alex’s vision swims. 

“Do I?” Henry says, biting a hickey into his neck, just under his jaw. 

“Henry, if you k-keep this up I’m seriously going t—ah!” Alex feels himself flutter around the sudden emptiness.

“Well now, that simply won’t do, will it princess?” 

Henry lines himself up— without a condom, Alex absently notes, stomach twisting. “Please,” he whispers, reaching up to touch Henry’s face when he can’t find the words. “_ Henry _.” He watches as Henry leans into the palm against his cheek before kissing it. Alex, momentarily distracted by the slant of his lashes, can’t stop the moan that tears out of him as Henry slowly pushes forward.

His nails dig into Henry’s back and he feels the earth's gravity shift with Henry’s hips. 

Henry fucks into him until all he can hear is white noise. The static under his skin; the crashing of the waves by the lake house shore. Henry fucks him until his thighs burn. 

His knees are hooked over Henry’s shoulders again, and everytime he pushes in, Alex's voice hits a note that borders on a sob. 

Henry won’t touch him— okay, wrong, Henry won’t touch him where he _ needs _ him to. He’s rolling Alex’s nipples between his fingers and they feel almost as raw as his kiss-bitten lips. Alex would tell him to stop, but the last time he tried that Henry sucked on them until his knees shook. Zahra had taken one look at his unbuttoned shirt the next day and asked if he needed an exterminator.

The ornate headboard is not so subtly knocking into the wall with every thrust and Alex is grateful June let Pez whisk her away for the weekend. He braces his hands against it as best he can, back arching gracefully, and Henry chooses then to shift his hips in a way that cuts Alex’s gasp with a scream that Henry swallows with a kiss.

His thighs burn, but when he moves his legs, Henry kisses a hickey on his thigh, his eyes sparkling, hazy and out of focus, but still alight with pleasure. 

Alex feels Henry spread his cheeks open as he fucks into him, feels himself flutter against Henry’s thumbs, and stretched almost to the brim, he wishes he’d push them in. 

Alex wants all of Henry, as much as he can take, and then he wants to take more.

Henry’s hands find their way to his hips and Alex can feel the bruises forming under that tight grip. The sting of nails in his skin lets him know Henry's close and that thought alone has Alex’s toes curling. He’s nosing at Alex’s neck, open mouthed and coming apart. A delicate chorus of pet names and praise tumble out of Henry’s mouth, scratching at an itch inside him that he’s too high to think about right now. Henry groans his name as through a mouthful of gravel, a mouthful of stardust, and he breathes out his release into Alex’s mouth.

The new warmth inside him makes him want to cry. Henry’s setting him on fire and he wants to cry, so he does. 

Shaking in Henry’s arms, he cums. 

Henry kisses the tears from his lashes and wipes the tracks from his cheeks and calls him _ love _ as he slips down between his thighs and the warmth of his tongue soothes the ache between his hips. 

**Author's Note:**

> cheers for your time and if I ever do this again you can bet alex’s ass he WILL be bottoming again. 
> 
> I love my friends first and am a man of culture second.


End file.
